


Something's Gotta Kill You

by linndechir



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Clothed Sex, First Meetings, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any man who made it for longer than a few years in this business had to <i>like</i> people trying to kill him. And they'd all had moments when they'd try to convince themselves that they didn't need it, that they wanted something calmer, safer. But the moment someone asked them if they wanted to get back out there and have some assholes shoot at them, they all got that look Lee had in his eyes now, sly and intrigued and just waiting to be convinced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something's Gotta Kill You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Barney had seen more fights than he could count in his lifetime, soldiers sparring on military bases and real fights in the field, show fights where just a few bones got broken but everyone walked out alive because the money wasn't good enough to get yourself killed. He'd seen enough of them that few things impressed him these days, and he sure as hell hadn't expected to be impressed in some shitty bar in bumfuck nowhere, USA, with nothing around but dusty highways and drunk rednecks.

But Doc had got himself mixed up in some bullshit he really ought to have known to avoid, Gunner was so high on whatever he was high on these days that Barney had told him to straighten himself out before he'd work with him again, and half his team from the last mission was dead and the other half so unreliable he didn't plan on working with them again. When Bonaparte had sent him here for “the kinda guy you're looking for, a bit fucked up, sure, but then who isn't in this business, and he's as good with a gun as you are and even better with a knife”, Barney had half expected it to be some bullshit wild goose chase because Bonaparte didn't have anyone better lined up.

The guy taking apart a mountain of a man twice his size in the cage might just have been worth the trip, though. Built like a swimmer, with broad shoulders, thick arms and narrow hips, moving so fast that even Barney couldn't always tell where his next punch or kick would land, vicious and efficient and cocky enough to toy with someone who could have split his skull if he'd only landed a single punch. He never managed, though, just got worn out by one precision strike after the other before getting knocked out with a punch so brutal Barney could feel his own skull vibrate from the impact.

Barney had seen a lot of fighting over the years, had spent most of his life around Special Forces soldiers, professional hitmen, and highly trained mercenaries, but the bald guy in the cage probably could have beaten the shit out of at least half of them. It couldn't be a good sign that someone that skilled could be found in this shithole, but then nobody who was in a good place would be looking for a new team.

Later that night, after the crowd had calmed down and the fighters had collected their money, Barney found the guy standing outside the bar in the cool spring breeze, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in his mouth.

“That shit will kill you, you know?” Barney said as he joined him, lips moving around his cigar.

The guy gave him the once-over anyone in their business would have given him, assessing him, looking for hidden weapons, trying to gauge if this was going to end in a fight. Then he gave him a second once-over, the kind Barney usually got in very different bars. The second surprise of the night.

“Something's gonna kill you sooner or later,” he replied. 

_Jesus_. Bonaparte had told him the guy was English, but he didn't sound like any Brit Barney had ever met, and sure as hell not like any Brit Barney had ever seen in a movie. More like he was speaking the English version of Texan. And he'd thought _Gunner_ had a thick accent.

“Barney Ross,” he introduced himself and offered his hand, then took it down again. So much for that famous English politeness.

“Lee,” the guy still said and finally took the cigarette out of his mouth. 

“You got a last name, Lee?”

“Don't really need one these days.” Turned out the lack of cigarette didn't make his accent any more comprehensible. Barney had a hard time estimating his age – he'd moved as fast as a 20-year-old in that cage, but with the experience of someone twice that age, and with that clean-shaven head he could have been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. Barney suspected the truth was somewhere in the middle. “You just here to chat me up?”

A raised eyebrow Barney chose to ignore for now, though he filed it away for later. Business first. He hadn't driven through several states just to get laid.

“I got a job offer for you,” he said.

“Don't remember sending in a resume last time I got drunk.” For all the affected indifference there was a hint of interest in his eyes. Good. However down on his luck Lee might have been, at least he didn't seem content with where he was.

“Heard you worked a couple of jobs with Smithy. He said you were solid. Reckless, but solid.”

“What a ringing endorsement.” Lee sneered, looked down at the cigarette in his hand like he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing with it, then dropped it and stomped it out.

“Yeah, well, from what I've seen in there, and from what I've been told, you can do a whole lot better than the small time jobs Smithy does,” Barney said. Bonaparte hadn't known a whole lot about Lee No Lastname, only that he'd been British Special Forces until he hadn't anymore, that he'd shown up in the States about a year ago with no money and no plan, but the kind of skill set that was always in high demand in any part of the world. Most of them had been there. Most of them had wasted some of their time and skill working shit jobs for shit pay until they got over the humiliation of getting kicked out for some bullshit they had or hadn't done, and realised that the rest of the world paid men like them way better than the military ever had.

“And you're the guy to offer those jobs.” Lee sounded sceptical, but Barney was starting to suspect that he always sounded like that. Like he expected everything that came out of other people's mouth to be complete bullshit. A lifetime in the army could do that to a man.

“Nah, I look like some suit to you? I'm the kinda guy working those jobs and I need a couple of new people for my team. Got a decent driver and a decent sniper, but I need another close combat specialist.” Barney shrugged like it didn't really matter, like he had enough other guys lined up who were as good as Lee or better. “Or you can keep beating up amateurs for pocket change, your choice.”

“At least those amateurs don't stand a chance at killing me.” It didn't sound like much of an objection. Any man who made it for longer than a few years in this business – whether it was in the actual army or as a merc – had to _like_ people trying to kill him. And they'd all had moments when they'd try to convince themselves that they didn't need it, that they wanted something calmer, safer, whether that was cage fights or working security for some nice company. But the moment someone asked them if they wanted to get back out there and have some assholes shoot at them, they all got that look Lee had in his eyes now, sly and intrigued and just waiting to be convinced.

“Something's gotta kill you, right?” Barney grinned at him. He pulled on his cigar, didn't miss the way Lee's eyes watched him shamelessly. Barney didn't know if it was an English thing that he didn't seem to give a shit if Barney noticed, or if he simply thought he had nothing to lose and the worst that could happen was getting his fists bloody on Barney's face. Maybe that was what he was into anyway.

“You say the money's good?” Lee asked, like that was the point.

“Better than what you get here, or from Smithy.”

“I take it you'll want me to kill people.”

“That gonna be a problem?” Barney raised an eyebrow. That was just about the only thing he couldn't use, a reformed sinner, the kind that got out of the army and suddenly found religion.

“Not really.” Lee grinned at him, a wide, crazy grin that showed as much gum as teeth. “Something's gotta kill them, too.”

And Barney laughed despite himself, wondered if “reckless” had been a bit too generous when the appropriate word might have been “batshit crazy”, but then Barney could handle crazy.

“Let me know when and where we're starting, and I'll be there.” Lee finished his beer, didn't break eye contact while he did.

“Will do.” Barney watched him move, the easy strength and grace in his muscles under a henley that was definitely one size too small. For all the beer and cigarettes he clearly hadn't been slacking. “We gotta work on that accent of yours, though, I don't understand half of what you're saying.”

Lee looked at him like he'd grown a second head, then snorted.

“Yeah, we'll talk about that when you learn to open your mouth.”

“You'll get used to it,” Barney said and put the cigar back in his mouth.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Lee replied with exaggerated horror and a wink, raised the empty bottle in salute, and took off towards the parking lot of the bar.

When Barney called him in the next week with details about the job, he wasn't surprised that Lee went on to criticise every single part of Barney's plan like a nagging wife on a bad day, and even less surprised that every suggestion Lee offered in return was a damn good idea. Looked like for the first time in a while, Barney's gut hadn't been wrong about a new team member.

* * * * *

The mission was as simple as they came – get into some base in a hot, sweaty country that could have made for a nice vacation spot if not for the local dictatorship, grab some documents from a safe, get the hell out, with no requirements of stealth or subtlety – and it went about as well as a mission with four people who barely knew each other could go. Turned out the driver wasn't half as decent as Barney had been led to believe, but Lee was ten times more deadly in the field than Barney could have hoped for and that just about made up for it. The sniper he wouldn't have minded keeping after the mission, but he already had a team of his own and no interest in jumping ship, he'd only been along because someone had owed someone a favour.

So in the end, Barney found himself with just a few new scratches and slightly more money, and still not much more of a team than before. What he did have, back home in his hangar with yet another half-ruined plane, was a mouthy Brit who'd spent the entire mission running commentary on everything from Barney's age to his plane to his revolvers to his choice of team mates. Little of it had been complimentary, all of it had been delivered with the world's biggest grin like Lee hadn't had so much fun in years. On day two Barney had started to wonder if Lee didn't need to breathe because he sure as hell never shut up even while burying knives in throats, shattering kneecaps and breaking necks.

They were leaning against one of the walls of the hangar, far enough away from any fuel that Barney could light his cigar again, Lee playing with a knife rather than a cigarette because at some point during their mission he hadn't exactly quit smoking, but more forgotten that he'd ever started in the first place.

“I gotta tell you something, Lee, from one man to another,” Barney started around his cigar. Lee had complained so much about his “incomprehensible mumbling” that Barney made a point of not trying to do better, just like he was fairly sure that Lee's accent was half fake at this point because nobody could sound that ridiculous unless they were trying. “You gotta work on your flirting technique.”

Both of Lee's eyebrows shot up, his fingers stilled for a moment before they started letting the knife rotate again. He made it look so easy, and not for the first time Barney wondered where Lee had even learnt that. It was hardly standard army training.

“My flirting technique?” Lee asked carefully, oblivious as if he hadn't been eyeing Barney every chance he got.

“Yeah. You're stuck at the stage where little boys pull on a girl's pigtails because they like her.”

A pause while Lee's eyes stayed on the knife in his hands, then he licked his lips and grinned at Barney.

“You are aware that you just compared yourself to a little girl with pigtails, right?”

Barney laughed out loud because that was a mental image he'd never needed. He'd spent enough time in this business to know not to trust anyone too easily, but dammit, he _liked_ Lee, with his irreverent comments and his good-humoured insults and that wide shit-eating grin that Barney could all too easily imagine driving his superior officers in the army nuts. And they'd worked together like they'd known each other for years, like they somehow already knew how the other one moved, and it had been a while since Barney had had that with anyone. Doc maybe, before he got too greedy for his own good. Stonebanks back in the day – as if Barney had needed a reminder that liking someone was no damn reason to trust them. Maybe it would have been smarter not to keep Lee around, to start working instead with someone he wouldn't get attached to, and there was no way he wasn't getting attached to that grin.

So instead of changing the subject to something more sensible, instead of maybe asking Lee what his story was or what he was planning to do next, Barney turned to face him. Let his eyes linger on the cut over Lee's cheekbone, an angry red line in the middle of a purple bruise, before his fingers followed his gaze. His thumb brushed lightly over the cut, the leather of his thumb brace catching on Lee's stubble, Lee's breath catching in his throat.

“Looks like my flirting technique isn't that unsuccessful.” Lee had gone for smug, but the words came out tense and too sharp. Maybe it hadn't been an English thing after all, the shameless way Lee had been checking him out that first night. Maybe Lee suddenly felt like he had something to lose.

“Pretty sure every time you get any, it's despite your flirting technique, not because of it,” Barney said and his hand slid down to Lee's chin, held it firmly. He was still aware of the knife in Lee's hands, and very aware of what Lee could do with it. Barney was fast, faster than most younger men he knew, but this close he doubted he'd be fast enough to keep that knife from going between his ribs if that was what Lee chose to do.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was a compliment.” 

It was an awful idea and Barney told himself that was why he was doing it when he shoved Lee back against the wall and kissed him hard, like he'd been waiting for this for longer than just a couple of weeks, but then nothing about Lee felt like they'd only known each other for a couple of weeks. Lee's mouth opened in a surprised gasp like he hadn't really expected this to happen, but instead of closing it again he kissed Barney back, his free hand going for Barney's hair, fingers curling into it tightly until Barney groaned. 

Then Barney felt something cool against his stomach, the sharp edge of a blade almost nicking his skin, and he realised only then that Lee was slicing his shirt open. His hands were so sure that Barney knew it had to be deliberate when the tip of the knife left the smallest cut on his throat before it clattered to the floor and Lee kissed him again, swallowing another groan from Barney's lips.

Barney had both his hands under Lee's shirt now, retraced those ridiculously defined lines of his muscles he had thought about more than once or twice since he'd seen Lee fight that first time, found a jagged scar on his side that felt like someone had sewed him up badly in the field. He shoved Lee backwards to a large crate that was standing by the wall, and because Lee was a helpful guy, he quickly swiped the cans and ropes and miscellaneous gear from the crate before he pulled himself up on it, Barney's hands on his hips supporting him like he needed it. 

“This is a really fucking stupid idea, you know that?” Lee said even as his hands pulled Barney closer by his shoulders and his hair, not even bothering to rid him of the torn shirt.

Barney buried his face against the side of Lee's neck, bit him just below the jaw until Lee's fingers tightened in his hair again. 

“You literally bring knives to a gunfight, Lee, you don't get to talk about stupid ideas,” he mumbled. Lee's skin was salty with sweat, and he shuddered a little every time Barney's teeth grazed his skin. It _was_ a stupid idea if they wanted to keep working together, but then maybe working together was the real stupid idea, and either way Barney couldn't bring himself to care when Lee was pulling him closer, his legs spread just enough that he could wrap them around Barney's hips. Barney had seen him kill a man with those legs, thighs easily snapping the poor bastard's neck like it was nothing. And he didn't get off on Lee killing people any more than he got off on killing people himself, but knowing what Lee _could_ do … that was a different matter.

Lee's only reply was another hard tug on Barney's hair, forcing him to bare his throat, but rather than biting him Lee merely leant in and licked over the shallow cut his knife had left on Barney's skin minutes before, his tongue pressing against the small wound. It burnt a little, kept burning as Lee sucked softly on Barney's skin.

Barney pulled inefficiently on Lee's shirt, desperate to get him out of it but reluctant to pull away for long enough. The furthest he got was opening Lee's jeans to get one hand inside. He didn't bother to take his time or tease, if only because he had a feeling Lee would make him pay for it later, so he simply tightened his grip until Lee moaned against his throat again.

“Fuck, Barney, don't you ever take that thing off? His voice was breathless, harsher than usual, and Barney wondered for half a second when he'd actually grown used to that weird accent of his. He needed another moment to realise what the hell Lee was even talking about, right until Lee covered Barney's hand with his own, fingers pressing the thumb brace tighter against his sensitive skin. Barney laughed quietly, shook his head. 

“That's the thing you're complaining about?” he asked, still amused, ignoring the half-hearted glare Lee shot him while he still bucked into Barney's fist. His hands were a lot less steady when they went for Barney's belt, his fly, his thighs forcing Barney closer the moment he got his hands on his cock.

“C'mere.” Lee's voice had dropped low, words slurring together and ending in a low moan when Barney was close enough that the tip of Lee's cock rubbed over his hip with every stroke of Barney's hand. Barney had let himself think about this more than once, and he'd never been able to settle even in his fantasies on what he wanted more, Lee's strong legs around him while he fucked him against the next wall, or on the floor of the plane, or in the pilot's seat, or Lee bending him over some crate in the hangar, maybe even lifting him up because Lee probably could, he'd complain about how heavy Barney was, but he still could. He'd thought about going down on Lee, too, digging his fingers into his thighs while sucking him dry and making Lee swear a blue streak, about Lee blowing him, too, even though the thought of shutting him up had lost most of its appeal. He hadn't had _this_ particular fantasy, but he sure as hell had no complaints now. Lee's hand was as strong and rough as his own, but its strokes were faster than Barney's, more impatient. Barney would have called it a younger man's urgency if he hadn't been thrusting into every stroke like he hadn't got laid in weeks. 

Lee was, unsurprisingly, a mouthy bastard right up until the end, snapping at Barney to go faster, complaining whenever he thought that Barney was slowing down, kissing him hungrily when all that complaining still left him some breath in his lungs. He came over both their hands with a streak of _fuck_ s on his lips, his stubbly face buried against Barney's neck like he didn't want Barney looking at him. 

His hand, slick with his own come, had stilled on Barney's cock, and for a desperate moment Barney worried that Lee might walk out now – wouldn't be the first guy with a bunch of pent-up issues he could only forget while his own cock was still hard. But instead Lee slipped down from the crate and onto his knees, glanced up at Barney with that wide, dirty grin on his face before he licked his come off Barney's cock. Barney felt like someone had tried to knock his legs out from underneath him, only managed to stay on his feet because he grabbed Lee's shoulder. Lee didn't really seem to know what he was doing, but then blowjobs weren't rocket science and any guy with half a brain could figure out what felt good. He took his time licking him clean before he wrapped his lips around Barney's cock, fingers fondling his balls like he didn't want to stop touching him. Barney grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him in place, but Lee didn't even try to stop, just swallowed greedily around him like he'd had the same thoughts Barney had indulged in almost since they'd met.

Lee coughed when Barney came down his throat, and Barney figured it might have been polite to give him a warning, but somehow he hadn't got around to it. And damn if it wasn't worth it for the sight of Lee with come dripping from his lips and his chin, grinning again even as he wiped of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Jesus Christ, Barney,” he said, still grinning from one ear to the other. “Little heads up next time? Were you trying to prove you're not that old or what?”

Barney let out a deep groan and turned so he could lean back against the crate. 

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” he said.

“Just did, didn't I?" Lee laughed and pulled himself up from the floor, leant back against the crate next to him, his shoulder brushing against Barney's. For a while they were quiet, Lee catching his breath and trying to clean himself up with his shirt, Barney fumbling to light the cigar he'd dropped earlier. He offered it to Lee, who declined with a shrug.

“I don't actually smoke,” he said.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Can't stand the smell, to be honest.” 

Barney snorted, then blew out smoke in a long breath – in Lee's direction, of course.

“Yeah, I noticed that too, when you were trying to eat my face. Really hated it, huh?”

“Aged me by about five years,” Lee replied, deadpan. “You keep that up, I'll look as fucked up as you in no time.”

“You mean like how dogs and their owners end up looking the same?” Barney had to laugh at the way Lee grimaced before he'd even finished the sentence.

“I don't know if I should be more offended that you'd call me your dog, or that you'd imply I'd ever get a dog as ugly as you,” he said. Barney laughed again, there wasn't really much he could say that Lee wouldn't make worse.

“So, what's next?” Lee asked a little while later, once they'd both tucked themselves back in and looked at least technically decent enough to leave the hangar without getting arrested, even if Lee would have had one hell of a time explaining the white stains on his clothes. 

Barney hesitated, busied himself with picking up some of the stuff Lee had swept off the crates earlier so he wouldn't have to look at him. There was a part of him, and he wasn't sure if it was the sensible or the paranoid part, that wanted to explain to Lee that they couldn't work together anymore after this, that fucking around with team mates never ended well, that it led to the kind of entanglements that got people killed. He couldn't even suggest that they just had to stop fucking if they worked together because the problem was that he liked Lee's scathing comments and cheerful grumpiness even more than he liked his shoulders or his mouth or his thighs. Another part of him, and that one seemed pretty reasonable too, realised that they'd made one hell of a team on this mission, that he could spend a long time looking for someone as competent as Lee, someone he got along with this well, and still not find them. And a good partner was everything in this business.

“I'll call you when I have another job lined up,” he said eventually, non-committal. He could still change his mind if he had to, could still decide that he wasn't going down that road again. 

“You better,” Lee said. He looked undecided, like he wasn't entirely sure if he was still welcome, and when Barney didn't look up from the gear he was putting back where it belonged, he put his hands in his pockets and turned to leave. “Pretty sure you'd get yourself shot otherwise, with the kind of crappy drivers you pick.”

He could still change his mind, Barney told himself while trying his best not to smile. Could still call Bonaparte and tell him Lee hadn't worked out, that he needed someone else. He could.

But when the next job rolled around, Lee was the first person he called, Lee actually helped him pick his new team, Lee was right back in the co-pilot's seat like it had been his from the start, nagging and complaining and criticising like that was what Barney paid him for. It probably should have bothered Barney how easily he got used to Lee, to the banter and the grin and the absolutely ridiculous last name Lee came up with the next time they actually needed passports.

“Christmas, are you serious?” he asked when Lee held his passport under his nose, looking as proud as a not particularly bright child who'd built a really ugly sandcastle. “It's a bit early in the year for that, don't you think?”

“Some years, Christmas comes early.” He slapped Barney on the shoulder in passing before he got on the plane. “Did nobody ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”


End file.
